Erik Hedegaard,Rolling Stone
In California's San Joaquin Valley, about halfway between Bakersfield and Fresno, and on the outskirts of the flee-infested,windblown, stink-soaked, and dry-mouth town of Corcoran,sits the squat, sprawling expanse of Corcoran State Prison, or where Charlie Manson is serving out the rest of a life sentence for his allotment in the peace-and-admire-era-ending Tate-LaBianca slayings of 1969. He has just entered the visiting room.
He doesn't look how he used to look,of course, all resplendent (brilliantly glowing) in buckskin fringe, and sometimes sporting an ascot or the Technicolor patchwork vest sewn by his girls,with his suave goatee...
Source: realclearhistory.com